Lessons unto Happiness
by Ariaeris
Summary: Because Potter couldn’t even leave him the facsimile of happiness he had created for himself. One-sided Draco/Harry.


New story time!

Now, I know I'm getting a little addicted to my new stories, especially Vaire and I's MWAHA 'verse, but surprisingly enough, this isn't Marcus/Harry! Shocking, I know. Nor is this a new chapter of _Harry's Chosen One_ - disappointing, I know.

Instead, I've done the unthinkable. I wrote a Draco/Harry fic, one of the pairings I absolutely abhor (no offense anyone! Some people can pull it off wonderfully, but canon Draco makes me sick). Or at least I tried to - I found out that I couldn't.

So, instead, this is an onesided Draco/Harry fic. I suppose it's partially canon compliant (Draco/Random OC that J.K. Rowling decided not to introduce until the epilogue), but there will be no Harry/Ginny.

Instead, there is Ron/Harry/Hermione. Because really, Rowling should have taken the plunge and made it canon. Or made Harry gay (she did it to Dumbles!).

...I've realized that my beginning notes are far too long. Does anyone mind? ...Does anyone even read these things?

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I am not making a profit off this. I should really put an over-arching disclaimer in my profile.

**Warnings:** Mildly mature themes, a non-badass Draco for once (otherwise known as canon), trigamous (or threesome, because R/H/Hr is not plant-love) relationships with a slash angle, onesided slash. Also, abuse of the poor horizontal ruler, and canon breakage at the end. And at the beginning. But this is fanfiction, so whatever.

Read on and enjoy everyone!

* * *

_Because Potter couldn't even leave him the facsimile of happiness he had created for himself._

_**Lessons unto Happiness**_

_Chapter 1: Beloved _

_Every man contemplates an angel in his future self._

_-Ralph Waldo Emerson_

* * *

**New Note: **Sorry for the incorrect posting - for anyone who read this as soon as it came out, you saw chapter 3a of Imperfect Heirs. I apologize for the mix-up.

* * *

For as long as he could remember, Draco had hated Harry Potter, more on principle than anything else. He had grown up on stories of the filthy half-blood and how he had toppled the greatest Wizard of the ages (and the one time he had commented that this 'Great Wizard' couldn't be that great if he could be beaten by a toddler, he had been sent to his room without sweets for a week – all the more reason to hate Potter in his eyes), and his beloved father's impassioned rants had built and fueled for many years the pyre on which the Boy-Who-Lived's reputation was to be burned.

Still, Draco was a Slytherin, and Slytherins were crafty fellows; Potter had done nothing to him personally, so in Draco's eyes, he had a clean slate. Explore all possibilities, his father had said, make as many alliances as possible. Just because his father hated the boy did not necessarily mean he had to.

Potter's innocence did not last long; Draco had not expected him to be the most cultured person in the world (he was only a half-blood after all), but to openly reject the friendship of a Malfoy! The Potter heir was even more foolish than he had thought.

Rejected and spurned for the first time in his life, Draco had taunted the Boy-Who-Lived, pointing out his flaws and insecurities. The brunette savior needed to be taken down a peg; his offensive and unwarranted pride (really! Rejecting a Malfoy!) was nauseating, and he obviously needed to be taught exactly what his station was in the world. Even a lord such as he would one day be was nothing compared to a pure-blood.

His godfather Severus had agreed with him, and together the two of them had made Potter's life as miserable as possible. Draco had never questioned his godfather's motivation for tormenting Potter; he was merely glad that there was another in this blasted school of Potter-sycophants (they had even invaded Slytherin at times, though their foolishness had been quickly beaten out of them) that was not foolishly enthralled with the boy's presence.

He wasn't even good looking, for Merlin's sake! He was all skin and bones (you'd think he had never eaten, he was so skinny – Pansy had a lot to say about how unfair it was that Potter was so skinny after every summer when he returned to Hogwarts when his loving relatives probably threw themselves at his feet, slaving away for him), and he was dreadfully short (which was odd enough for a thirteen year old Draco to wonder about faintly, because from what he had heard, Potter's parents had been fairly tall), and he was always flinching away from people. Pale and twitchy, Potter avoided hugs and general shows of affection with vehemence, and Slytherin had a laugh wondering if perfect little Potter had a nervous twitch or something (except for Tracy Moon, the pathetic little waif who spoke to no one, interacted with no one, and stared at Potter all day with the most haunted eyes that forced Draco to never look at her for too long in fear that they would lock with his).

Draco honestly couldn't understand the fascination with Potter; he was arrogant, egotistical, broke rules all the time, and was a general nuisance. He had no ambition, no desire for power. Too concerned with his _friends_ (and Draco sneered every time he thought of the blood traitor and the mudblood that hung on Potter's arms – they were the worst of Potter's fans, because while most would admire him from a distance and with whispered words, they actually thought they were his equals or something ridiculous like that. No doubt Potter thought they actually were, the fool) that he would better be off leaving in the dust, Potter constantly held himself back from being what he could really be (a lord, and Draco was not bull-headed enough not to see that Boy-Who-Lived would be an influential title enough in the future).

More than once, Draco had thought back on his first meeting with Potter and praised the fact that Potter had not accepted his friendship – Merlin knows, the insufferable fool would have been torn apart in Slytherin.

* * *

Following his graduation from Hogwarts with honors, Draco made a name for himself, an honorable one. Not Malfoy, which was spoken with well-hidden derision these days in a number of circles (Potter had won, and his family's name had died alongside the Dark Lord), but Draco. Draco was spoken with respect and admiration – Draco was a politician, riding on the coattails of the public's general cheery mood straight to one of the higher positions in the Ministry. Soon he would be in line to be the next Minister of Magic, and then he would be able to bring the Wizarding world back on track.

Following the Dark Lord's final fall, Minister Shaklebolt had moved from Interim Minister to full-time Minister (and Draco noticed in a detached way that for a former Gryffindor, Shaklebolt must have displayed quite the proficient cunning to keep his place in office during the tumultuous first years sans the Dark Lord), and it had taken a lot of ass-kissing to get on his good graces. Shaklebolt was not plied with money like Fudge, and so Draco had to demean himself working for 'the betterment of the general public' or some other shit like that.

Truthfully, if it had not helped to establish himself as a hard-working symbol of the Light who had abandoned his Dark family, then Draco would have told the Minister not-so politely to fuck off when he had suggested that Draco should work personally in various community service projects.

While it was rare that he got a day off from his never-ending struggle to make himself seem like the most upstanding person the world had ever been graced with, he had managed one day to meet up with his acquaintances from school a few years following their graduation. They had toured Diagon Alley, subtly feeling each other out and seeing what alliances had withstood the test of time and which hadn't, and soon Draco and his group had found their way to a quaint yet expensive restaurant that opened out to the Alley.

It was Pansy that saw them first; her nose had wrinkled in a way that Draco had once found vaguely alluring, and she had sneered at something out on the Alley. Draco had turned to see what had disgusted her so much, and at the sight that greeted him, he too felt his lip curl in disgust.

A large group was trailing down Diagon Alley, stopping at various stores and talking loudly, though not loudly enough to hear over the din of the other shoppers around them. Though they has significantly better clothes than usual, their fire-red hair gave away their identities; Weasleys. Sure enough, lingering at the back was the unmistakable form of Ronald Weasley, the large man (Merlin, the oaf must have been 6'5", if not six and a half feet) standing to the side of a bushy brunette woman – the mudblood he had always hung around with. That meant that Potter must not be far away, and…

Oh, what was this? Potter, in all his short unassuming glory had strolled into Draco's sight, and the present Slytherins all hissed disgustedly as he dropped a quick kiss on the mudlood's lips. Draco felt the need to laugh sardonically; really, Potter, did you standards truly sink so low? Still, Weasley's reaction would no doubt be amusing to watch (he had always been noticeably head-over-heels in love with the mudblood), but Draco was disappointed that all he did was throw an arm around Potter's shoulders and say something that made the two laugh.

Draco turned away from them – he was having a good day so far, and there was no need to spoil it because of _their_ presences.

* * *

Unfortunately, the Fates seemed against him today, for it was not even two hours later that his group ran into Potter outside of the bookstore. Draco could see out of the corner of his eye the assorted Weasleys and the mudblood tottering around inside, but Potter remained at the doorway, reclining against the wall to the side of the entrance.

"Draco," Blaise warned, obviously aware of what Draco was planning, but Draco waved him off. The blond walked towards the oblivious brunette, opening his mouth to say some derogatory comment when Potter's head shot up, piercing green eyes locking with his own.

"Malfoy," Potter murmured, voice not welcoming, but not aggravated either. Mild; polite. It did not suit him.

"Out of our way," Draco commanded imperiously, and Potter glanced to his right at the unguarded doorway in which Draco's group stood in front of.

"Still a child," Potter chuckled, and Draco saw red at the fool's indecency.

"What!?" Draco exclaimed, and all activity around them stopped in order to stare at the two. Draco smirked (he could never resist the urge to ruin Potter's reputation) but Potter merely smiled at him with infuriating calmness. "What did you just say to me?"

"Draco Malfoy," Potter said slowly, moving to stand straight in front of him, his eyes (damnable green, enchanting eyes that you could lose your soul in) swirling with some unidentifiable emotion. Or maybe no emotion at all, because his voice remained at a flat and inoffensive manner, even when faced with a scowling Malfoy. "Have you ever known happiness?"

Draco blinked, surprised by Potter's new question before scoffing. "Don't be ridiculous; of course I've been happy. In fact, I am quite happy right now – or at least I was until you got the idea in that ridiculous head of yours to confront me!"

"Really," Potter mused, and it almost seemed like he doubted Draco. It was enough to set Draco's ire aflame; who did Potter think he was to question him?

"Of course!" Draco exclaimed. "Why wouldn't I be? I am a successful politician, I have a beautiful wife," Draco said, motioning towards Astoria who stood off to the side, looking incredibly bored. Potter gave her a polite nod, which she returned, causing Draco to bristle. "My fortune increases daily, and I will have an heir soon. Why wouldn't I be happy?"

"I didn't ask you if you were happy," Potter said blankly, and Draco's fist clenched. What was Potter getting at? "I asked if you have known happiness."

"That is the same thing!" Draco shouted exasperatedly.

"Tell me, what is the expense of maturity?" Potter chuckled, glancing at the reporters among the fringes of the growing crowd who no doubt would never mention the blatant immaturity Draco was showing. "And there is a difference."

"Truly?" Draco scoffed. "Then what is that difference? Tell me, O wise philosopher."

"Would an example be preferable?" Potter asked, continuing without an answer. "Let's say that there is a man; the man lives a simple life, one of menial labor, perhaps a farmer. He knows nothing but farming and tending for his flock, but he is happy doing what he has always done throughout his life. One day though, he meets a rich man; the man is unhappy with his wealth, but he is exposed to various pleasures in his life. The two meet, and are astonished with each other - who knew that such radically different lives could be lead?"

"And so the poor man goes off envying the rich, and the rich man goes off knowing that he is the richer, no?" Draco asked sarcastically. "Is that what you were trying to say?"

"Maybe," Potter murmured, grasping the mudblood's hand that had moved to stand beside him. The reporters, so willfully ignorant to Draco's behavior, twittered at the gesture. "If you choose to see it that way."

"And how do you see it?" Draco asked, frowning.

Potter was silent for a long moment, rubbing his thumb against the chit's knuckles softly. Weasley moved to stand behind them, ever the bodyguard. "Does it matter?" Potter asked rhetorically. "You will learn nothing from what I have to say. And besides, I would hate to take more time from you than I already have." Potter waved a hand at the still unguarded doorway, the rest of the Weasley clan already having vacated the store. "Please."

Draco scowled before nodding to his group of acquaintances, and together they passed Potter's rag-tag group of misfits with an imperious sniff.

Potter smiled.

* * *

Draco smirked as he reached for the Daily Prophet, reclining in his plush bed and sipping a cup of coffee. Astoria hadn't been home for almost three days now (she was probably with one of her flings, Draco thought absently, taking a swig of his bitter drink), but Draco honestly could not bring himself to care. He had what he needed – young Scorpius was already being groomed into the perfect pureblood heir by his father and mother, and he needed only one heir after all. If Astoria wanted to ruin herself on the streets, then that was no problem of Draco's.

The headlines were still trumpeting over Potter and the mudblood's relationship, gossip and rumors flinging through the pages of the respectable newspaper – all at Draco's expense of course. A few galleons, and the newspaper was once again bringing their beloved savior's name though the mud.

Although the general public's reaction to Potter's relationship had been quite amusing (and revealing as well, much to the horror of the Light; who knew that many mudblood-haters still existed following the war?), Draco was willing to admit that it was getting a little tiring. There was only so many ways the _shocking_ news of the two's relationship could be mocked (though Draco could probably think of a few more, if he wasn't so indifferent to the whole things that is). What the world needed was something life-changing, mind-altering; something that would forever ruin Potter's image in their eyes forever.

Draco smirked, finishing off the last of his coffee and calling for a house elf to help him dress.

Potter wouldn't know what hit him.

* * *

To Draco's surprise, it was actually Potter that confronted him before he could continue his assault the half-blood himself. Well, if by 'confrontation' you meant sitting down at Draco's supposed-to-be-exclusive dinner table at one of the finest restaurants in Europe with a damnable smile, and calling the waiter over to his side. Draco bristled the entire time, his hand clenched around his wand hidden underneath the table, resisting the urge to hex the little shit who had just sat across from him.

"How have you been, Malfoy?" Potter asked genially once the waiter had left (and that young, star-struck man was going down if Draco had anything to say about it – how dare he not throw Potter out on his arse as soon as he sat down at Draco's table?), reaching out to snag a roll from the basket in the center of the table.

"_What are you doing?_" Draco hissed, his manicured nails biting into his soft palms.

"Currently, eating," Potter said taking a bite out of his roll, and Draco was grateful that Potter had not emulated his best friends eating habits as he swallowed before continuing. "As for why I'm here, well, I was wondering if you had an answer."

"An answer?" Draco asked confusedly.

"Yes, an answer," Potter smiled cheerfully. "If you need an example, then I just gave you one, if you would be so kind as to remind yourself of the past ten seconds.

Draco's palms were now bleeding slightly from his nails, and Potter glanced at them for a moment as he slammed them on the table, staining the pristine white tablecloth. "_Leave,_" Draco hissed, spittle flying to land on Potter's glasses.

"Fine," Potter said simply. "Give my apologies to the waiter for not sticking around; I'm sure the food would have been wonderful." Potter stood, shrugging on an old leather jacket that Draco had not ever seen him take off, before smiling at the enraged blond. "Please, tell me when you have your answer."

Draco snarled, his face twisted, as Potter walked out of the restaurant, the brunette greeting someone outside. Draco craned his neck to see out of the restaurant's windows, his mouth falling open in shock at what he saw – Weasley and Potter. Kissing chastely in the slight rain, looking like they popped straight out of a fucking romance novel as Weasley held onto Potter tightly and without shame.

Even as Draco smirked cruelly at the opportunity presented before him, a sharp something pierced his cold heart at the sight of the two lovers. The paroxysm was brushed off the next moment – he had no time for second thoughts.

* * *

Cheater. Traitor. Pouf.

Draco could not help it, and he threw his head back and laughed long and hard. The Daily Prophet, a picture of Weasley and Potter kissing on the front, lay beside him like a gift straight from heaven. It was perfect, better than perfect – Draco knew that this was Potter's retribution for tormenting him all these years, for thinking he was better than everyone else.

Potter's reputation was destroyed. Irrevocably, irreparably. If he knew what was best for him, the fool would never show his face in public ever again.

Draco had never felt happier.

* * *

"_Have you ever known happiness?"_

* * *

It was a week later when a new story graced the headlines, and Draco was surprised to see that it was there on _Potter's_ request. Still, it would be amusing to see how Potter tried to win whatever measure of pity he could wring from his _adoring_ public.

Draco was greeted with a picture of a smiling Potter, his arms around the beaming mudblood and a quietly for once grinning Weasley.

Draco did not need to read the article to understand; the picture had spoke more than what a thousand words ever could.

He flung the paper into his fireplace, his face twisting into a frown.

He had never felt unhappier.

* * *

The final time he had seen Potter, Draco had been strolling across Hogwarts' campus, waiting for his scheduled meeting with the Headmistress to hurry up. Potter had been standing at Dumbledore's grave, murmuring to himself. Draco allowed himself to muse to himself if Potter had finally cracked or not before moving to stand behind the brunette.

Just like their meeting outside the bookstore not even a few months ago, Potter spoke before he could.

"Malfoy," Potter murmured, voice not welcoming, but not aggravated either. Mild; polite.

Draco was shocked to realize that it suited Potter quite nicely.

"Potter," Draco sneered, paying a quick respect to Dumbledore's grave. He knew better than to offend the dead.

"Do you have an answer for me?" Potter asked inquisitively, his green eyes positively glowing without his glasses to hide them. Draco briefly wondered (and why was Potter making him think so damn much?) where they had gone, before huffing at the savior haughtily.

"Of course not. Or rather, my answer has not changed in the slightest," Draco said, facing Potter defiantly. Something niggled at the back of his mind, almost as if he was forgetting something, but he brushed the feeling away with practiced ease. He was used to ignoring his feelings around Potter. "I am perfectly happy – in fact, I am even happier than I was when you first asked. I have an heir now. Besides, your question was stupid anyway – 'have you ever known happiness?' Who hasn't?"

Potter frowned, staring at him almost in pity before shaking his head. "I suppose I don't need an answer from you – you have already given me one."

Draco's brow furrowed, ignoring Potter's infuriating pity for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"How is your son?" Potter asked in turn.

"How does he matter?" Draco asked, and Potter's face fell at his answer. What was wrong with him?

"Yes, I know now," Potter muttered, staring at Dumbledore's grave for a long moment. "I am not as forgiving as you were; I can not see good in everyone like you could."

"Unless you are going to talk to a stone for the rest of the day," Draco said with a frown. "I would like an answer."

"What answer do I owe you?" Potter laughed, and Draco felt blood rise in his cheeks in fury. "Or, what question could you possibly have for me – what could you ever learn from me?"

"Nothing, of course," Draco sniffed.

"Then why waste your breath on me?" Potter chuckled, brushing past Draco and moving towards the school's entrance gates.

"Wait!" Draco shouted, halting him for a reason he did not fully understand. Potter turned slightly, watching him with calm (twinkling?) eyes. "Have you…ever known happiness?"

Potter smiled, his face lighting up and the developing wrinkles around his eyes and on his brow disappearing. The transformation caught Draco by surprise, his breath rushing out at being face with Harry's joy.

"I like to think that I do," A hand reached up to brush Harry's eternally mussed hair away from his face, and Draco watched as the sun glinted off two simple rings on the brunette's finger. The damnable clench reappeared.

"What about your story then?" Draco asked, desperate for an answer from Harry, because suddenly there was a gaping abyss in his chest, and Merlin, how long had Harry been this beautiful? "Were the two, the farmer and the rich man, happy?"

"If you would like to see them as such," Harry smiled softly, as if he was enjoying Draco in pain. "Then they are. And if you don't wish them to be happy, then they aren't. It was just a story – and I am no good storyteller."

"Than what was the point of telling it to me!?" And Draco wanted to be angry so badly, but he was hurt more than anything else. What Harry had just said...it felt like a betrayal.

"Are you happy?" Harry cocked his head to the side, watching him with calm eyes.

"What do you think?" Draco shouted, stomping over to stand directly in front of the quiet brunette. "Do I look happy?"

"Not right now," Harry admitted. "But I think you could be. Were you happy before now?"

"I was!" Draco shouted, and it was absolutely pathetic, but Draco needed to hear that Harry thought he had been happy as well.

"Then why aren't you happy now?" Harry asked, and Draco's breath caught. "What has changed since we met in front of that store?"

"Nothing," Draco breathed, his eyes widening in sudden revelation.

"Then why aren't you happy?" Harry asked. Draco clenched his eyes shut, unwilling to look at Harry any longer. Why was he doing this? Was this Harry's form of revenge, payback for all the years that he had tortured him? Or did he just like seeing him in pain?

"You've built a name for yourself, Draco," Harry said quietly, and hearing his name form the other's mouth for the first time startled him enough to open his eyes. "You are no longer who you were; nor are you who you have been. You've changed too much – you cannot return to how you were. The potential for happiness is within you, just like it is in everyone else, but you were unwilling to acknowledge it. You settled for second best; unknowingly, you were in despair.

"Just like those two men in my stories, you were unaware of the possibilities that lay before you, and you were frightened by what you did not know. Now though, you eyes are open in a dark world. As frightening as it may be, you have to step further into that darkness, and continue on the path that you now know lays before you."

"And then I will be happy?" Draco asked, shaking slightly.

"Maybe," Harry non-answered. "That's up to you – it's always has been."

Long after Potter left, Draco stayed quietly in front of his ex-Headmaster's grave, his thoughts and emotions roiling about in his head. He didn't know fully what Harry meant, and he wasn't sure where to go from here (and he wasn't even sure he wanted to leave the dark place that he had called his happiness for so many years), but he knew that despite all the darkness before, behind, and in him, there was a single light in his life to guide him.

He had to go see his son.

* * *

Ten years later, Draco met Harry on the platform to Hogwarts, a small smile on his face. A quick pat to his son's shoulder, and Scorpius was running after young Albus with a smile on his face.

"I know," Draco said proudly, his eyes shifting from Harry to his son. Granger was fixing up their eldest son's hair, much to James' embarrassment, and Weasley was talking to Teddy and Rose, Lily holding onto his hand. Draco's silver eyes drifted over the rest of the Potter-Granger-Weasley brood before settling on Harry. He too was watching Albus and Scorpius with a fond smile, and Draco chuckled sadly over what seemed like a lost opportunity revealing itself once more.

"I'm happy," Draco murmured, watching Scorpius say something that caused Albus to chuckle and flush adorably, and he prayed that his son was smarter than him.

"I am as well," Harry smiled, knowing that he would not have to comfort his son over his fears of being place in Slytherin any longer.

All was well.

* * *

Forgive me. I had to add in the last line, no matter how many dark feelings it inspires in the readers who were disgusted (and had to go visit the dentist after all the fluff) by the epilogue.

How was the attempt at Draco/Harry everyone? I hope I don't get anyone banging on my door, wondering why Draco didn't hook up with Harry at the end.

This will not be continued - MWAHA is already getting more out of control then I really wanted (not that I mind), and I am not getting another 'verse in the works. Besides, I think I said everything I wanted to in this oneshot.

Before I sign off, I would like to tell everyone who didn't know that The Plot Bunny Whisperer has a new fic up, a late birthday present for me! Do her! So check it out sometime, and tell her just how freakin' awesome she is, okay?

And then come back to read the Fenrir/Harry that will be for _her_ late birthday gift.

Until then!

Ariaeris~


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